


Unforgiving

by turnofthesentry



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Gen, Prison, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/turnofthesentry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between <i>American Son</i> and <i>Osborn.</i> Ben Urich visits Norman Osborn in prison, for closure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgiving

As he forfeited his possessions to security, Ben Urich felt himself overcome by a thick blanket of apprehension, his stomach clenching and his forehead growing damp. Each step felt forward felt more and more like he was an innocuous minnow, swimming straight into the tooth-lined cave of the shark's gaping jaws.

Still, after years of deceit, of manipulation, of murder, Urich was glad Norman Osborn was finally where he belonged and hopefully for _good_ this time. It was hard to muster anything resembling hatred at this point -- Norman had done too much. The pain from so many broken lives was unfixable, and Osborn was not a man worth expending any more of his energy on. After seeing him that day at Asgard, crumpled on the ground like a broken doll, face smeared with paint and dirt and mud Urich had felt both anger and an emptiness. There was a hollowness in his chest that told him that there was nothing that would ever make he and Norman even. He could only hope that some of the power pouring off of Captain America, Thor, and Iron Man would catch on the wind and reach him.

He could use it now.

He wasn't afraid, but his muscles tensed all the same, hands clammy as he reached Osborn's cell. Two savage blue eyes watched him attentively behind inches of glass. Osborn was poised on the edge of his bed, as if he'd been waiting.

"Urich. To what do I owe the _pleasure_?"

"I wanted to see for myself that you were actually locked up like they said you were."

Norman bared his teeth in a wolfish grin, eyes shining. "You didn't have to come all this way. Why didn't you simply ask your little worker? What's her name… _Norah._ "

Urich's hands clenched at his sides, jaw clicking. He told himself Norman was only going to try to press his buttons; he was prepared for it. But he still hated the way his employee's name sounded on the man's tongue. He hated it almost as much as the way his own name sounded, cooed like one might to a lover. His skin felt so cold.

"Urich," Osborn whispered again, his palms pressed to the glass. Urich kept his distance, standing four feet away. Affection and derision graced his tone. "Why don't you just be honest with me? You need the satisfaction. You need--"

His fingers bent against the glass, nails clicking.

"That feeling of vengeance. Don't you?"

After Norah had graced the prison with her nosy blonde presence, Norman had prepared himself for the possibly of Ben Urich gracing his hallway. He didn't think it likely, necessarily, but he'd remembered that Ben Urich had been there all along; heard he'd written an article, remembered every effort the Frontline or its staff had made against him, unsuccessful or not. First Norah Winters, then Peter Parker -- it was easy to see who the figure behind their intrusive little mechanizations was.

Ben Urich, the man who had seen the man behind the mask for who he was before nearly anyone else had. The man who had written his biography, _A Legacy of Evil_.

(" _I knew it! I **knew** it! I said in a book -- I showed insurmountable evidence that he was the Green Goblin and he hit me with a legal shitstorm. I'll never get out from under it._ ")

Norman's hands around his neck, his words sticking to Urich's skin like sweat. It was disgusting, claustrophobic in here -- nothing like Asgard, where the air had been warm and the sky filled with fire. This hallway was sterile, the glass so clean it appeared as if the only thing separating the two men was floorspace.

Being cornered in an alley. " _Miss me, Pumpkin_?" he'd asked. Watching Osborn's eyes roll up into his head behind his mask and his mouth froth and drip with foam. His little manufactured seizure had probably saved Urich's life back then, but Tony Stark's experiments with nanites had proved more harmful than beneficial. Lord, would there _ever_ be someone in power Urich trusted?

His mind peeled off layer after layer of history, but he blinked back to the moment after what seemed like hours; a look at his watch told him it had been seconds. Osborn's eyes were on him, hungry and exploring, searching his body for signs of fear.

"No," Urich said, with a hint of a bitter smile. It was the most he could muster. "I don't need vengeance against you, Norman. Nothing that can ever be done to you will be enough. You're one of the most evil men I've ever met. I don't think you can be changed. Only contained."

For how long, was the real question. Norman Osborn was far from helpless even know; Ben Urich knew that. Perhaps he was one of the only ones who knew it. He didn't know what the man could do -- or would -- but he was a man with a silver tongue that spun words of gold, dripping venom with every attractive syllable. He was a man who would live far beyond his lifespan, in name, in legacy. For all those people who thought they could simply bury Osborn's influence under the carpet, Urich knew the foundations of his reign wouldn't fade so quickly, even if the tower had fallen. For all those who thought he'd be forgotten, benign, Urich knew what a poison man he was.

"People like you always think they can change the world," Norman said, his tone patronizing. "But when someone like me _does_ , you complain about _how._ Progress doesn't come from thin air, Benny. We have to make our own progress. We all have choices to make to pave the paths for our futures. _Choices._ To fight or to run. To talk or to listen." His eyes fixed themselves on Urich's, bright and wide. "To kill or to kiss."

Urich's lips pressed into a tight line, the flesh cold on his neck. He rubbed his forehead slowly, feeling the throb of Norman, _Norman yet again,_ Norman Damn-Him-To-Hell Osborn's words trying to cling to him like leeches. He was right, though; Urich did have a choice to make. Unfortunately for Norman, Urich had already made it before he'd even entered the Raft.

"Goodbye, Norman."

He turned away, footsteps loud like heartbeats in the empty hallway, leaving Norman as alone as he'd started with nothing but his thoughts for company.

Norman pressed his forehead to the glass.


End file.
